The other night I was at a party, sitting around a huge glass table drinking wine and talking about the things you talk about at parties like that, when we started talking about religion. My friend Maya made some joke about me being a Jesus Freak, and without thinking, I blurted out "ex-Jesus Freak." The minute the words were out of my mouth, I felt the most horrible sense of shame. After all, these are my private, painful musings, not meant to be made into a public joke; after all, this is Jesus we are talking about, to whom my entire life was dedicated for so long; after all, I am still my mother's daughter.
So the question remains, what do I really think? Who is it that I am becoming, what leg does she have to stand on? My search seems much more frantic from the pages of this website; the truth is I am more than stalled. I wrestle constantly with converting to Judaism, even still, but mostly I manage to keep that urge quiet. As for Christianity, I try not even to think about it anymore. There are no answers that satisfy me. Instead I fill up my days with distractions, until some comment at some party jolts me back into the middle of whatever inner conflict it is that I am successfully ignoring most of the time.
But today is gorgeous and the sun is shining, and my only odd urge is to write. I want to grab a pen and a notebook and sit in the sun in the old city somewhere and make up some people who understand me, give somebody life--you know, be God for a little bit, make things right.